


Ghost Light

by bendingsignpost



Series: Tumblr Fic [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Phantom of the Opera Fusion, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 07:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15746682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bendingsignpost/pseuds/bendingsignpost
Summary: A night watchman employed at his brother's place of work, Dean's meant to hunt down this mysterious ghost.He makes a deal with it instead.





	Ghost Light

**Author's Note:**

> anonymous  asked:  
> started thinking about prompts, got Bel Canto Destiel AU in my head?? and then I was like "wait I should probably say Phantom of the Opera" and then I got distracted by going back to re-re-reread [Bel Canto](https://archiveofourown.org/works/712295)

Shoulder braced against the wall, Dean rubs at his eyes and holds down a yawn. In the dark, something thumps and Dean freezes. The stage floor ought to creak, but doesn’t. 

Slowly, carefully, Dean lifts the latch on his lantern. The single candle within blazes like a bonfire out into the pitch darkness. A fallen prop, nothing more. 

Nothing more, including nothing that could have knocked it over. 

Dean closes his lantern before he can lose what limited vision he has. He strains his ears. A long vigil passes before another noise, enough for Dean to return to fighting yawns. 

This sound is more of a slither. Dean crosses the stage. He opens his light to check the ropes. He sets down his lantern to wind one back up. 

The light goes out. 

Dean drops down, grabbing for the lantern only for his hand to close around nothing but shadow. He lashes out for the thief, again striking nothing. He pulls his arms in, keeps his fists up, and strains to hear even more than he fights to see. When no direct assault comes, he pulls his matchbox from his inner jacket pocket. 

He strikes the match. 

For one glimpse of a second, a dark shape flares against the backdrop—and then a cool hand closes around Dean’s, lit match and all. The man—for the hand must be a man’s—doesn’t hiss at the flame or grunt when Dean nearly breaks his own hand on the stranger’s face. 

“Fuck!” Dean swears, and the stranger releases him, permitting Dean to curl around his aching fingers. “All right, tough guy, what are you doing here?”

If the shape in the dark moves at all, Dean can’t see it. The voice remains near. “You know why I’m here.”

“Yeah, you’re sabotaging the shit out of this place. What gives?”

Unseen eyes regard Dean closely. The pressure of that gaze pushes in against Dean’s eyes, his cheeks, his neck. “Zachariah Alder is an ungodly man.”

Dean snorts. “So? It’s an opera house, but you’ve only been raising a stink since the new owner breezed in. This isn’t about morals, this is about Adler. Don’t tell me you think opera is ‘godly’?”

“Zachariah Adler is an ungodly man,” the stranger repeats, this so-called Opera Ghost. “Are you here to stop me on his behalf?“

Dean shrugs into nothingness. “It’s what the guy’s paying me for. Unless...”

Without shape, without sound, the man conveys his impatience. 

“There’s, there’s a kid,” Dean says. “Lanky guy. Bit taller than me. Does the chorus bits, understudies for the understudies.“

“Your brother,” says the stranger. 

Dean bristles. “Some of the older crowd. The ones that think you’re a ghost. They say you were tutoring people to sing a hundred years ago.”

“I was,” says the stranger. 

Dean rolls his eyes but goes with it. “Sure thing, buddy. Look, you tutor my brother, you get him good enough for a role with a name on it, and I don’t turn you in.”

“You can’t turn me in.”

“Because you’re a ghost.”

“Because I am the angel of music.”

Dean stares into the cavern of the night. “Uh-huh. Sure. How’s this: you stop sabotaging the shows, you tutor my brother, and I see about getting Adler kicked out on his ass. Sound good to you, ‘angel’?”

For the briefest moment, two blue stars split the darkness. They cast a man into shadow. They fling the uncanny shape of wings once more against the walls. They blaze. Incrementally, they tilt. 

A cool hand closes around Dean’s. 

“It does, Dean.“

**Author's Note:**

> As fun as this opening was, I'm not going to write another big Phantom fusion, not after writing Bel Canto. If anyone wants to pick this up and run with it, feel free!
> 
> To see what else I'm working on, you can follow me on [tumblr here](http://bendingsignpost.tumblr.com/).


End file.
